The Armies of Heaven Read Free Page A

tucked my unruly curls behind my ears as if I were still the impish little girl who had to be looked after to make sure I was presentable. “And he couldn’t have borne one more death upon his hands. He couldn’t have come back from that. Not from you.”
    I drew back and looked into her eyes, full of wistfulness and sorrow. “What are you saying, Ola? Who couldn’t have?”
    She smiled sadly. “Kae, of course. My poor Kae.”
    I stepped away. “How can you say that? How can you speak of him tenderly? He murdered you! He murdered his own wife. That was enough not to come back from!”
    “He couldn’t see us, Nazkia. I don’t know what he saw, but there was something in his eyes. He was full of rage and fear—and madness. He wasn’t himself.”
    “Not himself! What kind of an excuse is that for slaughtering your family? Not oneself is when you say an unkind word to the ones you love, not thrust a sword into them!”
    “You know he was not himself.” She reproached me as if I were being impolite. “You must take care of him. He has no one else.”
    “Ola!” I couldn’t respond, horrified that she grieved not for herself, or for me, but for the one who’d killed her.
    She lifted my chin, again relegating me to the part of the willful child. Though Azel had been five years my junior, his status as heir and his poor health placed him in a different role within the family, and I had always remained the baby.
    Ola held my gaze with hers, allowing no prevarication. “I was his sweetheart, Nazkia, but you were always closer. You were his dearest friend.”
    I shook my head, unable to speak.
    “Please, at least try to be kind to him. He’s lost everything.”
    Like the child I’d been reduced to, I put my hands over my ears to shut her out. Ola looked back over her shoulder and it seemed dawn approached, a strange pinkish light bleeding across the ephemeral place in which we stood.
    “I have to go, dear Nazkia.”
    “No!” I clung to her hands. “Please don’t leave me again. Stay with me!”
    “You know I can’t.” Her form grew less distinct as the light advanced. “Promise me you’ll at least try to do what I’ve asked. As long as Kae is heartbroken, I cannot rest. It hurts so to hear him weeping.” Her hands within mine now felt as formless as water.
    “Oh, Ola.” I bit my lip and shook my head in defeat, unable to deny her anything. “I’ll try. But he doesn’t even own up to what he’s done.” My voice was bitter. “He denies that he butchered you, that he cut out his own child!”
    Ola was fading. “Oh, Nazkia, no!” Her voice had become a distant echo. “It wasn’t him, it…”
    “Ola, come back!” What was she saying? Who had done it if not him? She was gone, and I was only dreaming. I screamed her name and surged out of sleep to find Vasily’s warm body against mine, his arms holding me close.
    “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Hush.” He kissed the top of my head and I burst into tears.

Vtoraya : Written in the Chora

    He was not to speak to her, and he was not to give her anything other than water and the daily bowl of gruel and heel of bread. In the beginning, after the crying stopped, she’d often called out for her mama, but now she was quiet. The only time she made any noise at all was on bath day.
    Once a week, his mother brought a bucket of cold water down to his room with a sponge so he could wash. He was only three, but he’d learned to be quite self-sufficient. He didn’t feel like three. He didn’t know what he felt like. He only knew he remembered days that didn’t belong to him, remembered living in a fancy palace and reading books, learning things that would, at present, be far beyond his years.
    When he finished washing, he was to pull aside the plank covering the oubliette and dump the water into it. This washed any soil at the bottom through a grate in the floor. Every time he tipped the heavy bucket into the hole, the girl screamed, and she